


the stars spill from your arms

by sweet_mintx



Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_mintx/pseuds/sweet_mintx
Summary: Minhyun sees the milky way spill from Jonghyun's arms, but realizes that perhaps he was the one who made up the galaxy.Written for the timeline of Produce 101.





	the stars spill from your arms

_It is tough, but I think about the people who believe in me…_

There was a sense of finality hanging around him as he slipped on the navy-lined, grey jacket for the last time. He eyed the way the collar looked flipped up before finally smoothing it down—five years later, he really was no longer made for the disheveled, delinquent look. He stepped closer to the mirror to carefully affix his nametag above the program’s signature triangle logo, only wincing a little when he pricked himself with the needle yet again. He gave himself a grim smile, eyes raising to meet his reflection’s in the mirror.

“Of course, this would still happen by the last performance,” he muttered conspiratorially to his reflection, ignoring the ironic urge to give himself a wink and instead heaved a small sigh as he finally turned away from the mirror. The noise in the changing room around him had faded into a muted din, but he smiled as he caught random snippets of conversations—

_No, hyung, for the last time st—_

_Stay still please—well look, now you got lip tint all over me—_

Something warm settled in his chest as he leaned his weight against one of the tables, hands fiddling with the cap of a water bottle before placing it down and letting his mind drift.

“Did you poke yourself again?”

The interruption was welcomed, and as he heard the familiar voice, the corners of his mouth lifted instinctively. He looked up from where he’d been staring aimlessly at his hands, and his smile widened when Jonghyun came into view, dark hair brushing lightly against his soft, soft eyes.

He felt himself exit his daydream seamlessly and leaned towards Jonghyun like gravity’s pull.

“Who do you think I am? A five year old who still needs mommy’s help to pin something?” He asked amusedly.

“Honestly, yes,” Jonghyun replied—not missing a beat—and held out his palm.

Sitting atop it was the golden crown pin. He glanced down at his jacket which was noticeably lacking the pin and smiled sheepishly. He must have misplaced it. Jonghyun gave him a small grin in response and reached for his lapel, pulling him lightly towards him.

As he let himself tilt forwards, he felt his breath catch in his throat. And as if they were colluding with each other, his treacherous heart skipped a beat as Jonghyun’s steady weight was pressed against him and he was looking down at the top of his head.

“Minhyun-ah,” Jonghyun muttered as he bent closer to attach the pin, the vibrations of his voice traveling between them. There was a pause, and Minhyun swallowed in an attempt to get his vocal cords to work.

“Hmm?” He managed, fingers itching to run through Jonghyun’s hair like the old times, when affection still came easy. Jonghyun didn’t reply immediately, instead choosing to focus on pinning instead. Finally, when he was satisfied with the orientation of the crown, he patted Minhyun’s chest lightly and stepped back—smile blinding.

“Regardless of what happens today,” he began—and Minhyun almost tuned out, intoxicated by Jonghyun’s smile, something he’d spent over six years getting used to and something that still, without fail, took his breath away every time it appeared. But the six years had served him well, and he managed to vaguely register Jonghyun’s words.

“Hyung—” he said with an almost reprimanding tone. Jonghyun held up a hand and tilted his head, letting out a quiet chuckle.

“Let me finish, will you?”

Minhyun closed his mouth and watched Jonghyun warily. He looked tired, and standing so close to him, Minhyun could see the dark circles underneath his eyes peeking through the thin layer of concealer. He’d lost weight too—all of them had, whether due to the stringent diets, the relentless practices, or even just the stress. But even with his shoulders slightly hunched as if he’d held up the world for a little too long and the weight of it has since been etched into his posture, his eyes were bright and slightly wild. It was a good look on him—happiness, trust, hope, and gratitude. So long had the look in his eyes been shuttered, carefully composed, and Minhyun yearned for the days filled with careless laughter.

“Minhyun-ah, regardless of what happens today,” Jonghyun continued, “I just want to say thank you. For everything you’ve done for Nu’est—” He paused again, eyes dropping for a millisecond—so quick that Minhyun barely noticed it but then again Minhyun noticed everything about Jonghyun—and his smile turned a little sad.

“And for everything you will do for Nu’est.”

 

 

 

_I know I’m going crazy, this is it for me. The pressure is getting huge—more and more…_

 “You don’t have to do this.”

Minhyun watched as Jonghyun glanced up at him slowly—soft, soft eyes gently focusing on him and crinkling at the edges as he schooled his expression into a parody of a smile. The arrow fell short, however, and instead, he just looked weary and a little bit lost, and Minhyun struggled to keep the panic bubbling in his chest at bay.

Absently, as Minhyun met his gaze, he remembered Jonghyun’s quiet drunkenness a couple of nights ago, marked by the chilly winter breeze and long legs swinging underneath the balcony railing of their apartment. It was when they’d been first given the option of a last ditch attempt to rescue their dreams, and Minhyun had ended up keeping Jonghyun company late into the night, counting the lights of the city as they shut off one by one. When the darkness was finally giving way to early morning, and Jonghyun’s head had found Minhyun’s shoulder and his mumblings had become somewhat more coherent as he sobered up, Jonghyun had turned towards him and peered up at his face intently.

“What is it?” Minhyun remembered asking, heart beating roughly in his chest as his gaze brushed against Jonghyun’s face, taking in the way his skin was illuminated softly by the daybreak.

Instead of replying, Jonghyun had lifted up a hand and rested it gently against Minhyun’s cheek, lightly sweeping against it with his cold fingers.

“There are lines in your face,” he had mumbled, breath still smelling vaguely of the cheap soju that had once occupied the bottle lying by his side.

“It comes with age.”

There had been a beat of silence, and then Jonghyun dropped his hand and looked away, squinting at the first rays of sun breaking through the grey film of clouds.

“Your face isn’t one made for age,” he had replied quietly. “But the lines have been there for so long.”

Another pause, and then he had tilted his head back at Minhyun and smiled.

“I think I was the one who put them there.”

Minhyun had wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but instead he just watched as Jonghyun stared back out into the city below them, wondering what he was thinking about, what he was seeing when his eyelashes dampened with tears. Minhyun had wanted to brush them away, but instead he just sat silently next to Jonghyun, pressing his warmth against him like a steady reminder that he was still there, and prayed with all his might that Jonghyun understood his intention.

Minhyun thought that perhaps he did, but the look on his face when he gathered himself up and extended a hand to Minhyun was carefully guarded and so, so lonely.

It was the same look on Jonghyun’s face right now as he stared up at Minhyun from his seat at the empty dining table—vaguely benevolent, vaguely bittersweet—and Minhyun was at a loss of how to wipe that expression off of Jonghyun’s face, once and for all.

“Do what?” Jonghyun finally asked lightly, breaking the silence that had been stretching between them. His eyes dropped back down to the piece of paper sitting on the table in front of him, and the way they moved somberly across the sheet made it seem as if he was reading his own death sentence.

“Do…this,” Minhyun said when he found his voice, waving a hand at the piece of paper. “Lower yourself, humiliate yourself—” His voice broke off, and his heart stopped as Jonghyun seemingly instinctively looked back up at him.

“You don’t have to do this for us,” Minhyun finished finally, his voice lowered to a raspy whisper.

Jonghyun was quiet for a moment, silently observing Minhyun. Minhyun felt his skin prickle underneath his gaze, but he forced himself to stay still and not bolt from the scrutiny.

“I’m not the only one doing it though,” Jonghyun replied, gesturing for Minhyun to take the seat in front of him. He didn’t, choosing to remain standing, and he watched Jonghyun let his hand drop limply against the wood of the table.

“We all are, so don’t make me into a martyr.”

“But you feel the most responsible.”

Minhyun’s words were curt, and the _even though you shouldn’t_ was left unsaid but nevertheless, hung tensely in the air. A rare, genuine smile crawled its way onto Jonghyun’s face and he smoothed his hands over the piece of paper.

“This could be our last chance, Minhyun-ah,” he said quietly, smile still present on his face.

Minhyun opened his mouth and took a breath, as if he was about to say something in contradiction. Time seemed to be suspended—it was like the hope of the world was held against Minhyun’s tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to move it and say something. In the end, he weakly shut his mouth, leaving no words uttered and a helplessness swimming in the room. 

 Minhyun watched as Jonghyun’s smile became tired and sad, and with a lurch of visceral pain, he felt pieces of his heart slowly crumble off as he continued to meet Jonghyun’s steady gaze.

“I’m glad we’re all in it together though. With you by my side, I feel like I can do anything,” Jonghyun said finally.

He knew the words were meant for all five of them—all of Nu’est, who had made the grim decision to come together in one last final battle against the Korean entertainment industry and their fate—but as Minhyun gave Jonghyun a bone-crushing hug and finally walked back to his room to lie on his bed and close his eyes, he pretended that the words were meant for him only.

As he laid back against the soft down of his bed covers, he could almost pretend that he was living in a dream—soft, melancholy, but temporary—and that he was about to wake up any moment now. But there was no sudden awakening—no jolt into reality. Reality was already accompanying him, wrapping its fingers around his arm gently, and then threateningly. He could feel something inside him harden with the coaxing of reality’s thin fingers, and he promised himself that regardless of what would happen, he would try his best to give Jonghyun the last chance that he wanted. Regardless of what would happen, he would shove away his pride and give Jonghyun, give Dongho, give Youngmin, give Minki the last chance to stand on stage—together.

The journey might have been easy at the very beginning—at the starting line—but it had since become more and more difficult. He knew this was going to be a bumpy road—in his mind’s eye, he could already see the thrushes and the thorns and the bleeding arms and scratched legs of his members—but it was the only road offered to them. He would endure the humiliation, rewind the past five years, and become a trainee again if it meant he could stand on stage next to his best friends and watch the smile radiate from Jonghyun’s face—pure bliss and contentment.

He’d endured it for so long anyways—the frustration, the pain, the failures—and if Jonghyun had always been the one to give him the validation he sought for, then this time, he would be the one to give Jonghyun his dream back.

And if nothing else could chase away the cold grip reality had around his heart, at least he had his best friends by his side, holding him up and leading the way.

 

 

 

_Though keeping my eyes closed and enduring is heavy, I clench my teeth and bear it anyways…_

 “Aron-hyung is not joining us.”

Minhyun’s eye shot up from where he was staring at his stained shoe laces, and he exchanged glances with Dongho from across their small practice room. Dongho looked just as confused as he was, but when they looked to Minki, all they saw was a firm resignation as he nodded minutely to Jonghyun.

Nobody could catch Youngmin’s eye. He was leaning against a table pushed towards the wall, looking down at the floor with a small frown on his face and Jonghyun’s hand pressed gently against the small of his tense back.

Dongho cleared his throat. “Why?” He asked. His voice echoed in the room and the question sounded almost too loud for the grave silence that had fallen over them.

Jonghyun shook his head and let a ghost of a smile play on his lips.

“It’s his decision.”

The room lapsed back into silence after his words—one hung tensely as if ready to crack and give way to chaos at any moment. Minhyun watched Youngmin closely, waiting for the weight of heavy resentment to settle in his chest.

He understood that every member had a choice of whether or not he wanted to join the program, but Minhyun had thought that they’d all come to a consensus that they’d go down fighting together. And, if he was completely honest with himself, only the thought that all five of them would be there for each other stopped him from staying awake every night, staring blankly at the bumpy ceiling of his bedroom, and kept him aloft the anxiety and fear.

Yet, even that notion had been brutally taken away from him.

Minhyun watched Youngmin closely, waiting for the weight of heavy resentment to settle in his chest, but it never did.

Instead, there was a sea of sadness engulfing him, and he felt it filling up his lungs as he struggled to breathe. His eyes were still trained on Youngmin, but they were unfocused and he could only see a blurry image of him, fading at the edges like an apparition threatening to disappear. He tried to blink away the tears, the betrayal—betrayal not so much from Youngmin but from music, from his ruined dreams, from _life_ in general—but he could only screw his eyes shut and try to regulate his breathing.

He listened to the rest of his members walk up to Youngmin, the ruffle of clothing as they each gave him a hug, the light murmurs he didn’t try hard enough to pick up on, and the hesitant steps of Jonghyun that walked towards him and then after a slight pause, away from him. He listened to them shuffle out, the door shutting mutely behind them, but most of all he listened to the rise and fall of his own chest reminding him that he was still alive, still breathing.

_Inhale—one, two, three—_

_Exhale—one, two, three—_

_Inhale—one, tw—_

Suddenly, there were strong arms wrapped tightly against him and he immediately fell into the embrace, the strength of his body fleeing as if the support of another person was the long awaited breath of fresh air.

“It’s going to be okay, Minhyun-ah.”

He heard Youngmin murmur the words against his hair, heard the hitch in his breathing as he too tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, and tightened his arms around him.

“It wasn’t your decision,” Minhyun muttered, a little bit of indignation tinting the edges of his words, and if he sounded petulant and childish, he no longer cared.

Youngmin gave a short, humorless chuckle, and stroked Minhyun’s hair gently.

“You make it sound like we had a choice in the first place,” Youngmin said lightly. He paused. “We don’t.”

Minhyun didn’t reply, breathing in the scent of his _hyung_ ’s subtle cologne and appreciating that Youngmin didn’t mind his tears staining the sleeve of his sweater.

“What are we going to do?” Minhyun finally whispered with childlike candor.

Youngmin began to pull back, and even though Minhyun wanted nothing more than to drag him back into the embrace, he let him step away. Fingers slipped under his chin and lifted it up until he was looking at Youngmin—a stab of fresh pain returning when he saw the gentle sadness and acceptance swimming in Youngmin’s eyes.

“You’re going to change the world,” Youngmin said, his voice deceptively casual as if he was merely relegating chores for their dorm. _Fold the laundry._

“You’re going to make Nu’est number one again.” _Wash the dishes._

“You’re going to make sure the world does not—cannot—forget about us again.” _Let’s clean up our home together, guys._

Youngmin offered him a watery smile, and pulled him close once more.

“But take care of yourself, okay?” He continued, words soft against Minhyun’s ear. “Take care of Jonghyun too—make sure he knows that none of this is his fault. The past, the present, the future—they’re all out of our control whether we like it or not, and the most we can do is fight against the story destiny had written for us. And he can’t do that alone.”

Youngmin stepped back again and ruffled Minhyun’s hair with a smile, as genuine and worry-free as he could make it. Minhyun tried to do him the same courtesy, but he was well aware that the poor excuse for a smile on his face was far from happy.

“And don’t fall into it, my beloved _dongsaeng_ ,” Youngmin warned seriously, eyebrows knitting together. “Once it gets you, you’ll never climb your way out.”

Minhyun rubbed his nose, sniffling despite the fact that he knew he looked ridiculous, and then cocked his head.

“Fall into what?” He asked, bemused.

“Capitalism,” Youngmin replied darkly, nodding to himself.

Minhyun stared for a moment, blinking at Youngmin’s overly serious face, and before he could stop himself, he burst into laughter from the pure absurdity of the statement. As idols, their identity had literally been crafted by the system of capitalism, and it had been so long that Minhyun had forgotten it was an institution and not just a way of life.

The irony hadn’t been lost to Youngmin, who grinned at his outburst and nudged him with his elbow. Minhyun pushed him back, still chortling.

“Hey, you laugh now, but I’m just telling you there is no such thing as ethical capitalism. We gotta get out of it when we can,” Youngmin added, the faked conviction in his voice making the feat sound almost possible.

“Sure, hyung,” Minhyun managed between breaths. “Whatever you say.”

Youngmin elbowed him once more as they made their way out of the practice room and slowly back to their dormitory. The cold outside still nipped at their exposed skin, but Minhyun gladly welcomed the chilly winter air after the suffocating dance room.

Along the way, the two of them wordlessly stopped in a park they had hung out in often during their trainee days, and as Minhyun resisted the urge to swing his legs against the bench while stabbing his straw into his yogurt drink, he wished for this moment to last. An intermission that lasted for an eternity, a small repose where the world still seemed to hang together, if only by Youngmin’s shoulder pressed against his and Jonghyun’s exasperated smile when he found them in the park and joined them, stealing Minhyun’s drink in the process. It was only a matter of time when Dongho and Minki appeared, voices loud and boisterous as they tried to cajole Youngmin into buying them drinks as well.

Minhyun closed his eyes to the laughter, feeling Jonghyun’s hand lying softly against his thigh, and quietly intertwined his fingers between his. There was no indication that the world had shifted its course—just a gentle squeeze, a head against a shoulder, and the laughter of his best friends fading in and out of the background.

_I’ve got a lot of fingers pointing “unfair”…_

Minhyun peered outside the window of the cafeteria and was pleasantly surprised by the first blossoms sprouting on the cherry blossom tree—its branches waving as if greeting Minhyun through the glass. He allowed himself a slight smile before he returned to pushing his food around on his tray. The diets given to the trainees were strict enough that most of the time, he felt like he could buy out an entire convenience store, but from time to time he’d sporadically lose his appetite and wish for nothing more than the comfort of home-cooked food.

He hadn’t seen his family in a very long time, especially during his overseas promotions with Nu’est, but for some absurd reason, he missed them now more than ever.

“What’s wrong?”

A figure slid into the seat across the table from him, and Minhyun took a moment to shake himself out of his idle reverie. He was met with a slightly concerned, trayless Dongho. It was evident that he’d eaten lunch already—probably with his team members—and had caught sight of Minhyun sitting alone.

They had been careful not to stick together, cautious of the rumors that whirlwinded around them the moment they had stepped into the sound studio for the infamous audition. The other trainees had been polite enough to greet them before falling into hushed whispers and stolen glances, but it wasn’t like the room didn’t echo. He’d heard or seen most of the comments already—all of them had.

— _failed idols_ — _not fair_ — _what happened_ — _shouldn’t be given a second chance_ — _isn’t this kind of embarrassing_ —

They’d resolutely ignored them during the audition, and it had been easy enough with the four of them sitting close together—a semblance of what had been of Nu’est before they became Pledis trainees again. But after the _Me, It’s Me_ training had ended and the group missions began, it was like they had come to a wordless agreement to distance themselves from each other.

There was still friendly greetings, playful shoves, slips of sarcastic tongue—everything that had become habit and too difficult to file away—but they never sat together during meal time, never had extended conversations with each other, never sought each other out after lights were turned off and other trainees snuck out of their designated rooms to chat with their best friends—old or new.

They played by the rules like they had been ingrained in their bones— _practice, smile, don’t show you’re hurting, eat, practice, greet the coaches, hug a fellow trainee, don’t let the smile fall off your face._ Even though the constant dance and vocal practice was physically exhausting, Minhyun welcomed the singlemindedness that would come with the activities—an anesthetic for the gnawing frustration and pain in his chest.

So when Dongho materialized in front of him, as if he’d seen the rain clouds floating about in Minhyun’s mind like he always did, it took Minhyun a second to recode his brain and figure out how to react.

“Nothing,” he blurted out a little harshly, and he caught the small slip of Dongho’s expression. “Just tired,” he quickly added, schooling his tone into something more casual.

The look on Dongho’s face morphed into sympathy lined with fatigue that Minhyun’s own visage probably mirrored.

“I feel you bro,” he said. “But hang in there Hwang Minhyun.”

Dongho grinned, and Minhyun felt the world reverse in time—

— _Hi, you’re Hwang Minhyun, right? Heh, Hwang Minhyun… I like how that sounds. I think I’m going to call you that from now on._

_… Okay but that’s my name._

_I know, but Hwang Minhyun. What a great name._

_Kang Dongho isn’t bad either._

A flash of a grin.

 _Yeah, you think so?_ —

“At least you have Jonghyun with you,” Dongho was saying when Minhyun jerked himself back into the present—plastic cafeteria seat, cold cafeteria food, Dongho grabbing the spoon from his loose grip and shoveling a bit of rice into his mouth.

Minhyun felt his mouth twitch when Dongho pulled a face and immediately dropped the spoon.

“Blegh, leave it to you to let your food get cold. Please treasure your rations, we are only given so much,” Dongho scolded, shaking his head and pushing his chair back.

He reached across the table and clasped Minhyun’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

“You can do it, Hwang Minhyun.”

And with that, Minhyun watched the disappearing backside of Dongho as he raced to catch up with his team members who were hanging by the door, waiting for him. There was a little twinge of jealousy in Minhyun’s heart, but more so than that, he felt relief.

The first couple days had been rough—full of awkward tension and unfamiliarity—but somehow, the four of them managed to become friends with the other trainees, gaining their acknowledgment and respect individually. The program hadn’t quite smoothed over—there were still little bumps, and then huge bumps, in the road—but Minhyun was glad for the company he had. His heart which initially only had room for Jonghyun, Youngmin, Dongho, and Minki eventually grew to allow names upon names upon names.

Most of the time, he could surround himself with these kids whom he genuinely cared for and loved, seek out the motherly fussing of Jisung, the overwhelming affection of Seonho, the calm sarcasm of Jaehwan, and the never-ending comic relief of Seungwoo. But on some days, when the bright weather of Seoul spring didn’t quite match the weather in his head, he wanted soft, gentle eyes and the sunshine hidden in the curve of Jonghyun’s smile.

He wanted to wrap himself in Jonghyun’s warmth and close his eyes to take his long overdue nap, but when his eyes finally fell on the slight tilt of lips his heart ached for, he did nothing but gather up his uneaten lunch and fell into step with Jonghyun. There is half a foot of space between the two of them as they exited the cafeteria, but Minhyun told himself that familiarity would not just be a relic of the past, but a promise of the future as well.

 

 

 

_Honestly I have a lot of fear. I was scared of this position…_

In the days leading up to the final evaluation, Minhyun felt the distance between him and Jonghyun gape, and then chasm. By some miraculous stroke of fate, they had been placed in the same team for nearly every evaluation, except for the position eval.

He remembered that particular performance very clearly. During the practices, he felt himself slip back into his own element, letting melodies roll off his tongue with practiced ease, laughing carelessly with the rest of his group members, building a camaraderie with Jaehwan from mutual respect and a little bit of envy—and for the first time in a very long time, he had felt at peace and happy even without the company of his best friends. The weather in his brain cleared a little bit and he waited patiently as the sun slowly climbed out from behind the clouds.

He seemed to rediscover the core of his dream—the blindingly passionate love he had for music, for singing—and even though at times his heart ached nostalgically for the exasperated look on Youngmin’s face when he would sing during their naptimes in their designated Nu’est van, he nevertheless enjoyed being in the company of those who appreciated the art of music the same way he did.

The feeling of standing on stage, letting the voices and instruments wash over his skin and spirit was one that he cherished and could never let go of.

But more so than his own performance, he remembered Jonghyun’s. The way his black stage costume stood out against his pale skin, the way his voice sliced through the backing track during his rap, and the way his eyes seemed to burn through the camera lens when he looked at it.

Minhyun had stared at the screen in the green room in awe, just like all the other trainees had, letting the words Jonghyun had written sink into his mind and imprint them somewhere in his gyri. It was always such a wonder watching Jonghyun perform—he rarely had a chance to do so as they usually performed together, and perhaps he had forgotten about the stage presence Jonghyun commanded so easily.

He also remembered the results of that evaluation: Jonghyun placing number one and the world finally righting itself after being tilted too far on its axis for too long. He remembered the relief, the pride, the love flooding his heart relentlessly as he watched Jonghyun climb the stairs to the top of the pyramid, lowering himself slowly onto the number one throne. His expression had been vaguely uneasy, a little bashful, but he had been happy, and Minhyun loved the wild look in his eyes.

Minhyun remembered the way Jonghyun leaned down and looked straight at him, smiling, and the way time teasingly rewinded to days when there was less fear and frustration, and more carefree confidence and soft winds blowing through Jonghyun’s hair. For a second, it seemed almost as if time would remain in the past instead of jolting back to the present.

Minhyun remembered the way Jonghyun’s voice wavered at the beginning of the greeting he led when they were bowing to the national producers, but he also remembered the way it gained strength as he continued speaking—his words echoing lightly through the sound studio, touching Minhyun on the shoulder and whispering that everything was going to be alright.

It had been his favorite arc of the program thus far, even though he hadn’t been with Jonghyun. He loved singing, and he loved watching Jonghyun perform, and more than all of that, he loved watching the look on his best friends’ face when Jonghyun took the number one title that seemed to promise that their dream had hope, that their dream wasn’t going to fizzle out and then vanish.

The concept evaluation brought the two of them back together, and wordlessly once again, Jonghyun accepted the title of leader. Minhyun remembered when he had first pushed that title onto Jonghyun during their group evaluation days and the way Jonghyun had looked at him with nervous caution when he first pitched the idea. Minhyun had watched the way his eyelashes fluttered with hesitance, the way he swallowed his reluctance and almost unwillingly accepted the position, and the way he seemed to inevitably fall flawlessly into the role like it had been molded for him. The title of _nation’s leader_ wasn’t one that had been given to him carelessly—it was perfect for him, but Minhyun always felt a little bit apologetic towards Jonghyun when he saw the way he pushed himself harder and farther to live up to the expectations the nation had for him, and even more terrifyingly, the expectations Jonghyun had for himself.

For the final evaluation, though, the two of them had been separated again, and it was incredibly disorienting not being cramped into a small practice room with Jonghyun, listening to him mumble song lyrics as he teetered on the edge of wakefulness and sleep. Throughout the practices, Minhyun had seemed to be riding some sort of hazy high, body tense as he impatiently waited for the final performance to roll around.

When it finally did, only Jonghyun’s presence soothed his nerves, and he fixated his gaze on Jonghyun and his every movement in between stages. Jonghyun seemed to pick up the way Minhyun was being stretched taut, and naturally gravitated towards him—a shoulder pressed against Minhyun’s arm, a hand ruffling through Minhyun’s hair, a whisper into Minhyun’s ear.

Minhyun slowly felt the crevasse between the two of them close up, and prayed for it to disappear once the program ended and the burden lifted off from their shoulders. Sometimes at night, he had stayed awake and stared up at the ceiling, deep night panic entertaining the idea that perhaps only Jonghyun would make the final team.

The thought of Jonghyun handling the pressure on his own, feeling the burden of Nu’est on his own, made Minhyun push himself harder during practices, struggling to keep up with Jonghyun’s speed at mastering choreographies. No matter what would happen, Minhyun refused to let Jonghyun carry the world on his shoulders all on his own again—he had done so for so, so long and Minhyun had watched the weight of it break his spirit one stone at a time and Minhyun’s heart had shattered in the process. Once the program ended, they would all—all five of them—be given another chance at achieving their dream, and if the world would cease playing cruel tricks on him, Minhyun would keep Jonghyun company as they rebuilt a name for themselves.

 The thought of that allowed him to push through the fog of anxious frustration that engulfed him during the final performance, and time seemed to fastforward throughout the evening and suddenly, he found himself dressed in the standard program uniform and Jonghyun’s fingers tugging at his lapels.

As he gazed down at Jonghyun’s crown of startling black locks and vaguely registered the words he was murmuring under his breath, Minhyun’s mind raced with all the things he wanted to tell Jonghyun.

He wanted to tell him that he would always be by his side, and that he didn’t have to hold up the sky on his own anymore because Minhyun would be there, right next to him, holding it up with him. And next to him, would be Dongho, and next to him would be Minki, and next to _him_ , would be Youngmin, because the world was never the fault of just Jonghyun, but maybe the fault of all five of them. And even then, the crack in the earth they had created was beautiful and sprouting with flowers, and if Jonghyun thought that he had never led them onto a flower path, he was wrong.

He wanted to tell him that he looked beautiful in the uniform, but he looked even more beautiful wearing a white t-shirt, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair as he powered through the choreography for the millionth time. He wanted to tell him that he looked beautiful when he held a mic against his lips, and when he laughed loudly at a joke Hyunbin had made, and when he teared up during the segment with video letters from parents, and when he clung onto Minhyun so tightly as he cried into his chest for the comforts of home and family.

He wanted to tell him _thank you_ for holding up the world on his own for so long, for letting Minhyun grow up at his own pace while he threw himself into adulthood far too early. He wanted to tell him _thank you_ for putting up with the four of them for so long, for tolerating their pranks, their random outbursts of singing, and their teasing. He wanted to tell him _thank you_ for being the best leader he could have ever asked for, the best leader the world could have ever asked for. He wanted to tell him _thank you_ for making him feel safe, feel comforted, feel like he could take on the world even if Jonghyun never felt like he was doing enough, and he wanted to tell him _thank you_ for being the ray of sunlight in Minhyun’s cloudy mind for such a long time.

He wanted to tell him that he loved him.

And he wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but all he knew was that he wanted Jonghyun to keep smiling until his cheeks ached, and that he never wanted Jonghyun to look worried or sad ever again.

But in the end, he didn’t tell Jonghyun any of that, and instead, he let Jonghyun tug him into an embrace that ended far too early and listened to Jonghyun thank _him_. He smiled at the absurdity of the statement, but before he could reply, they received the cue to begin the final elimination, and the two of them walked out with Minhyun’s hand pressed against the curve of Jonghyun’s back.

Minhyun let most of the elimination pass with a blur, numbly receiving his rank of ninth place and slowly walking towards his seat. He sat in it impatiently and waited for the rest of the ranks to be announced. It was somewhat infuriating watching BoA receive the cue card to announce the next rank and the directors drag the time between each rank to an almost unacceptable length. But despite the edginess that kept him shifting around in his seat, there was always an echo of peace at the back of his mind, reminding him that he had made it, that he and Jonghyun would be together, and that he wouldn’t be leaving Jonghyun alone.

But the echo began to break apart and distort, as the ranking climbed higher and higher, and with a jolt, Minhyun realized that the math didn’t work out quite right. Suddenly, the speed at which BoA was revealing the contestants was too fast, and Minhyun gripped the cold, plastic armrests of his chair tightly until he felt sweat pool underneath his palms.

BoA’s voice reached him as if through a long, distant tunnel, and he felt vaguely familiar names fly by his consciousness.

_Kim Jaehwan—_

_Lee Daehwi—_

_Park Jihoon—_

_Kang Daniel—_

There was something wrong with the universe—a glitch in the matrix perhaps—another trick the world was playing on him even though it deceptively promised that the games would end with his compliance to fate. The numbers didn’t match up—reality didn’t match up to the script for the future he had unknowingly typed out in his head. Perhaps that had been the problem—the gods didn’t appreciate the way Minhyun tried to predict the future, and decided to punish him with this small jest before letting the universe bring itself back to order.

“And for the final rank, number 11, is…”

Minhyun felt his heart beat slow to a stop, and dimly registered that somehow, time had reached an indefinite pause as well. His lungs clogged up with oxygen he couldn’t seem to breathe, and his eyes wildly searched for Jonghyun’s presence, Jonghyun’s comfort, Jonghyun’s _don’t worry_ , and when he finally found Jonghyun in the crowd of participants on stage, he realized with a jolt that Jonghyun was looking right at him, eyes steadily fixed on Minhyun’s face. Their gaze collided—

—and the world jerked back into motion—

—Jonghyun’s eyes did not leave Minhyun’s face—

—there was a small smile playing against his lips—

— _I’m sorry_ —

“Ha Sungwoon.”

There was an outburst of applause and cheering, and Minhyun felt himself stand up and his hands mimicking the motion of those around him—of Jonghyun—bringing them together in a slow clap. The world seemed to have fallen out of orbit, tumbling through the unfamiliarity of deep, dark space with no destination in mind. There was an avalanche in his chest, threatening to crack his ribcage, and he let out a loud, desperate gasp for air, ignoring the concerned look Jisung threw his way. He felt someone grip his shoulder, as if trying to ground him, but he numbly shook it off as he fell back into his seat as his legs gave way.

“Minhyun. Hwang Minhyun. Minhyun, are you okay?”

The hand on his shoulder returned, and he numbly turned towards it. Jisung’s face appeared in his blurry vision, the concerned look on his face visible even through the haze. Minhyun tried to lift his lips up into a smile, but something was weighing them down and all he could do was furrow his brows in confusion at his inability to command his facial muscles.

“I’m so sorry,” Jisung whispered, and he tugged Minhyun into a hug, a hand pressed firmly against the back of his head.

There was something wrong and unfamiliar about the hug. It wasn’t soft enough, warm enough—it didn’t smell like Jonghyun, didn’t feel like Jonghyun—and Minhyun felt his heart lurch as he gasped again, the sound of his pain breaking through the film of tears coating his cheeks.

Jisung patted him a couple of times, and then reluctantly let go, still eyeing Minhyun worriedly. But in the end, he stepped back and turned around to congratulate another trainee, and Minhyun was left alone again, back turned against the crowd and eyes lifted towards the sky as if seeking out God.

People flitted towards and away from him, congratulating him with hugs and pats on the back and words of encouragement and occasionally a look of sympathy and maybe pity. Sewoon stayed by him a little longer, squeezing him a little harder than he usually dared to as if trying to give Minhyun a little bit of comfort through the press of his fingers. Minhyun mechanically reciprocated with a smile and stepped away politely, eyes resolutely avoiding the sympathetic look on Sewoon’s face.

Seonho stayed with him even longer, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, clinging onto him as if his presence would stop the way Minhyun’s eyes were reddened at the corners and the way he couldn’t breathe through his sobs. He hugged Seonho tight, praying with all his might that this young boy who looked up to him wouldn’t feel the same dizzying pain he did, but his heart fell as he remembered that this young boy was also selling his soul to an entertainment industry larger than his life and his pursuit for happiness.

Dongho was there too, giving him a big hug longer than they were used to. There was a quick, whispered _thank you, I’m sorry, but thank you_ into his ear that led to another wrangle of sobs clawing their way out of Minhyun’s chest. And Dongho laughed, a little desperate, a little relieved, a little sad, as he pulled Minhyun back into another hug. _I love you Hwang Minhyun, don’t forget us._

Minhyun wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t forget— _couldn’t forget_ —that he would sooner die than _forget_ , but the words wouldn’t come, and instead he could only look at Dongho and cry at the way there were tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as well.

Jonghyun was the worst, appearing at his side like an apparition he could see but could not touch, a soft hug barely perceptible, a small kiss tickling the side of his cheek. He wondered if Jonghyun could taste the saltiness of his tears against his lips, but he couldn’t meet Jonghyun’s eyes, couldn’t allow himself to grip Jonghyun’s arm and stop him from moving away. Instead, he watched Jonghyun’s backside disappear into the crowd of people, a shadow of Jonghyun’s upturned lips tattooed on the backs of his eyelids.

But even as Jonghyun left his side, Dongho was still there, a steadying hand at his elbow as he guided Minhyun into another wave of congratulations. Minki materialized next to him as well and Dongho seemed placated enough to leave the two of them alone. Minki’s smile was bright like he had carefully ironed the disappointment and sadness out of his expression as he gave Minhyun a hug that was quick and strong. Suddenly, Minhyun was reminded that the fragile Choi Minki he had met during their debut days had since grown into a gorgeous young man with a resolve the strength of steel.

When Minki moved to step away and give Minhyun some space, his heart tugged fearfully at the thought of being alone and he reached out a quick hand to grab onto him. Minki looked at him with surprise, but he stayed where he was, peaceful smile never leaving his face as he reached up and brushed Minhyun’s bangs out of his still tearful, red eyes.

“Tell—” Minhyun began, swallowing thickly.

“Tell him that even if I die, I will return to Nu’est,” he continued hoarsely, looking at Minki desperately and forcing his words through broken gasps.

Comprehension flitted across Minki’s face, and suddenly his smile disappeared and he looked at Minhyun sadly.

“Tell him that I won’t forget Nu’est. Tell him thank you, and tell him that he’s beautiful, and tell him that I—”

Minki shook his head and gently tugged his arm out of Minhyun’s grasp. He leaned closer to Minhyun and rested his head on his shoulder, arms wrapping lightly around Minhyun’s midrift.

“Tell him that yourself, Minhyun-ah. He’d want to hear it from you himself.”

And with a little pat on the small of Minhyun’s back, a whispered _I love you so much_ , Minki moved away and Minhyun let himself be swallowed by the sea of grey uniforms, a wave of cavernous loneliness consuming him despite the crowd of people around him.

Somehow, he was ushered back into the waiting rooms, navigating the hallways and falling into the much needed embrace of his mother. He breathed in the scent of her perfume, let her _I’m so proud of you_ brush against the shell of his ear, and clung onto her tightly, tears staining the shoulder of her blouse. He felt his sister stroke his hair, her hand resting lightly against the nape of his neck, and he reached out to pull her into the embrace—a small triangle of his beloved family standing together in a midst of rowdy celebration.

“Aron texted us,” she whispered lovingly. “He said congratulations and thank you.”

Minhyun tightened his arms around his mother, and tried futilely to push back the next wave of tears that shook his core.

This seemed to be the conclusion of Minhyun’s struggle to reach his dream—the dangling stars in the sky that his fingertips could never touch—and the first few pages of another chapter where he could continue to fight to perform on stage, to remain standing with his best friends. This was the beginning of a second chance that they’d been granted—that he’d been granted—but he felt no closure and felt no renewed idealism.

There was a deep hole gaping in his chest, and if _nothingness_ weighed like something, it weighed like the entirety of the world. He focused on his mother’s gentle pats on his back, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to regulate his breathing—

_Inhale—one, two, three—_

_Exhale—one, two, three—_

_Inhale—one, tw—_

“Minhyun-ah.”

Minhyun raised his head instinctively at the voice, even before he recognized the speaker. Something in his heart swelled and threatened to burst, and the lightheadedness he felt had little to do with the dry sobs that wracked his body and everything to do with the man standing peacefully at his side, waiting with slightly open arms as if he was still uncertain, unsure about whether Minhyun would accept his affection.

Minhyun’s mother stepped away, giving her son one last, encouraging smile, and suddenly, Minhyun had nothing to support him but his numb legs that propelled him forward as if they had a mind of their own. He stumbled into Jonghyun’s embrace without even knowing it, and the moment he felt Jonghyun’s arms wrap around his shoulders, an ocean of sadness and loneliness and unfulfilled yearning and torn futures crashed into him as he cried loudly against Jonghyun’s warm, soft presence.

“Why are you crying?” Jonghyun asked quietly, amusedly, and Minhyun could almost hear the smile playing on his lips. But he could only shake his head in response—unable to speak—and let Jonghyun’s chuckle reverberate throughout his body.

“Congratulations, Minhyun-ah.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“I love you.”

What the cameras would later capture would be Jonghyun standing a foot away from where Minhyun was sitting, fingers fiddling with the cap of a water bottle, while Jihoon leaned against the back of Minhyun’s chair and Seonho took the seat to Minhyun’s right. What the cameras would later pick up would be Jonghyun laughingly scolding Minhyun for crying while everyone was celebrating, a softly muttered _congratulations_ , and a gentle smile that finally reached the corners of Jonghyun’s eyes but one Minhyun had missed until he went to watch the video on his own. What the cameras would later show would be Dongho walking through the door, _as long as one of us makes it everything will be okay_ , and Minhyun thanking his Nu’est members for the past five years of camaraderie, friendship, and a blinding, youthful chasing of dreams—a quiet, unspoken promise that he would return to a Nu’est that was going to shake the earth until the world could no longer forget about them.

But all of that was the future—something Minhyun had yet to worry about. For now, he was content with Jonghyun’s arms holding him, Jonghyun’s murmured words trailing around him like the tail of a comet, Jonghyun’s lips brushing against Minhyun’s skin repeatedly—leaving a trail of burning supernovas in their wake.

For now, this was enough—stars spilling from Jonghyun’s arms, soft fingers carving their names into a passing planet, the daybreak waiting for Minhyun to return. 

 

_Even though it’s a one way path, the opposite direction—I’ll walk it. Yeah, don’t worry._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Bolbbalgan4's Galaxy.


End file.
